Vulpecula IX-XI
by jeri
Summary: The third set in the Vulpecula series. MSR/M and Babyfic. Still.


TITLE: Vulpecula IX-XI  
AUTHOR: jeri  
E-MAIL: ggal1116@yahoo.com OR agentjeri@thexfiles.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/index/html  
RATING: PG-13  
CATEGORY: XSRA, S-POV  
KEYWORDS: MSR/M, SMOAngst, Babyfic  
SPOILERS: Requiem  
ARCHIVE: Sure, just drop me a line!  
STARTED: June 25, 2000  
FINISHED: July 24, 2000  
CONTAINS: Bullfrog; Ides; and 29 Hours.  
  
**DISCLAIMER: The names you recognize belong to   
CC and his crew. Veronica Durant and Alexis are   
mine, so please don't use them without consulting   
me first. Enjoy!  
  
^*^*^  
IX - Bullfrog  
[[Family and friends converge in Ellicott   
City on Christmas Eve]]  
  
December 24, 2001  
12:05 p.m.  
  
Happiness is a birthday three days before Christmas.   
It's close enough to just write one HUGE list of   
wished-for presents, but far enough to guarantee   
two celebrations.  
  
Luckily, my son is not old enough to realize this   
quite yet. His father, on the other hand, knows   
this quite well, and it took considerable effort   
on my part to assure him that having the family   
over for one big celebration on Christmas Eve just   
this once wouldn't scar Adam for life.  
  
I, however, am never holding a huge get-together   
ever again. As the grandfather clock in the living   
room chimes each hour, I know that I'm that much   
closer to having all hell break loose in my small-  
but-comfortable home. Of course, the sooner they   
get here, the sooner they leave...  
  
I know, I'm horrible. But let's just say I have a   
new appreciation for my mother right now.  
  
Everyone's due over in an hour, and, fortunately,   
Mulder's need to one-up Billy and to show up Saundra   
has turned him in to a LeanMeanCleaningMachine. I   
guess a bit of rivalry in a family is always good   
for something.  
  
I'm desperately trying to keep Adam asleep, which   
is difficult since he's not used to a nap this   
early. But I know sleeping will impossible once   
the Scullys arrive; we've always prided ourselves   
on being a loud family.  
  
Of course, it's not just Scullys who will be   
cramming into the house this afternoon. I also   
invited Skinner and Ronnie and the Gunmen. I   
figure since they were all at Adam's birth, they've   
earned the right to come to his birthday parties.  
  
I pause outside Adam's room, and I'm very glad not   
to hear him fussing. He's been asleep for an hour   
straight, so he should be good for another forty-  
five minutes.  
  
Moving along, I walk downstairs and begin flipping   
through my mental checklist. The Christmas   
decorations have been up for nearly a month. I   
picked up a large sheet cake from BJ's yesterday.   
My fridge is full of Cokes and Heinekens. I've got   
enough pretzels and chips to feed the Navy. I've   
wrapped all the presents for my niece and nephews.  
  
Sounds like this might actually be a success.  
  
^*^  
  
5:17 p.m.  
  
Loud doesn't begin to describe a large family in   
a small house.  
  
Especially when the sixteen-year-old and the   
thirteen-year-old begin taunting their seven-year-  
old sister, thereby ignoring their almost-four-  
year-old cousin and making him very upset.  
  
It doesn't help that Frohike and Langly are helping   
the two older boys.  
  
Precisely twelve minutes ago, Jason and Tim found   
out exactly what the Gunmen do for a living, and   
now they're teasing Lexi by telling her stories   
that would freak out anyone her age. Matty's chasing   
after his cousins because he thinks they are just   
so cool. Other than his babysitter, they're the   
only teenagers he knows. But he knows a few babies,   
so Adam isn't a novelty.   
  
Fortunately for the baby's ego (well, my ego,   
really), the adults are quite happy playing Pass   
the Baby. I look over at the circle and see that   
Adam's bouncing happily on Tara's knee.  
  
Saundra and Ronnie are standing by the tree,   
chatting while they fondle the ornaments. Charlie's   
seems deep in a conversation with Mulder and Byers,   
and knowing my little brother's love of conspiracy   
movies, I'm not the least bit surprised. Billy's   
talking with Mom about planning a trip for her out   
West. Skinner's sort of just sitting in the middle   
of it all, sometimes making a comment with Tara,   
but mostly just soaking it all in.  
  
"Dana! What's this?" I turn my head, trying to   
find the voice, and I see Ronnie pointing to   
something on the tree. I hope she's not looking   
at one of Mulder's ornaments, which he bought at   
Spencer's.  
  
Thankfully, she's holding onto a wooden ornament   
that's shaped like a frog. "Oh, that's Bullfrog."   
Ronnie and Saundra stare at me, and I realize they   
need a bit more information to go on. "To start   
off Adam's collection of ornaments to take in case   
I ever let him get married."  
  
Saundra, who's four inches taller than me, looks   
down in what can only be called disdain. "A frog?   
Not very in tune with the season, is it?"  
  
One. Two. Three. Fourfivesixseveneightnineten!   
"It's kind of a joke, Saundra. About Adam's middle   
name."  
  
Ronnie snorts gracefully, and I'm glad to see that   
she gets the joke. Saundra keeps staring at me,   
so either she doesn't make the connection, or   
there's a piece of the equation missing.  
  
"You do know Adam's middle name, right?" I ask in   
my, 'give-the-benefit-of-the-doubt' voice.  
  
"I, um, I'm afraid not," she sputters.  
  
I flip the ornament over to show where I've printed   
'AJM 2001' in gold ink. "Adam Jeremiah Mulder," I   
explain.  
  
"Jeremiah?" Saundra still doesn't get it, but   
there's no damn way I'm singing the damn song.   
Only Mulder and Adam are privy to that bit of   
dissonance.  
  
Ronnie, on the other hand, has no qualms about   
singing (nor should she, she has a beautiful voice),   
and so she gives Saundra a hint by crooning,   
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog..."  
  
To my astonishment, Saundra just shakes her head.   
"Sorry, don't know it. Must not be old enough,"   
she mutters, but from the look on her face I don't   
need to remind her that I'm only two years older   
than her, and Ronnie's just about the same age,   
too. I just shrug and move along, searching for a   
better conversation to jump into.  
  
Everyone's attention is focused on Adam right now   
as he crosses the living room to attach himself to   
Mulder's leg. Unfortunately, Mulder is in the   
process of walking into the kitchen with some   
empty cans and bottles, which naturally crash to   
the ground as Mulder loses his balance. Did I   
mention Adam's got a future as a football tackler?  
  
"AJ," Mulder groans as he bends to pick up his   
son. "Listen buddy. Can ya at least squeal a bit   
so I know you're coming? Can we make that deal?"   
Mulder nods hopefully, and Adam bobs his head, too,   
happily mimicking his father.  
  
I love watching those two interact. The silent   
communication I've had with Mulder is just as   
prevalent between father and son, and it wouldn't   
surprise me to hear a loud squeal the next time   
Adam tackles his dad.  
  
And it's interesting to watch their relationship   
develop. Mulder just recently started calling Adam   
'AJ', mainly because he just found out Adam's middle   
name. I guess I can't fault Saundra too much, since   
it took until about a month ago for the subject to   
even come up in our house...  
  
^*^  
  
November 21, 2001  
8:49 p.m.  
  
I was finishing up with the dishes when Mulder   
approached me from behind, sliding his arms around   
my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.  
  
"Adam asleep?" I asked, pressing a kiss to his   
cheek.  
  
"Mmm hmm." His left hand moved to trace my arm,   
down to the bracelet on my wrist. He moved it   
around my wrist so the oval of turquoise could be   
seen. "Scully?" he asked.  
  
"What?" I responded.  
  
"What's Adam's middle name?"  
  
I turned my head quickly, surprised by the question.   
"You don't know? I'm sure I told you at some point..."  
  
He shook his head. "Nope. I never thought about   
it, actually, until tonight. I was rocking him,   
and telling him about Thanksgiving and all. And   
I remembered something my parents did with Sam   
and me for a couple of years."  
  
I shut off the water and turned to face him,   
wiping my soapy, wet hands on his butt. He protested   
mildly, but I urged him to tell me about the   
Thanksgivings he remembered.  
  
"Well, the first year we did it was the year   
I went to kindergarten. Our class made hand-  
turkeys -- you know what I mean, right?" I nodded.   
"Well, Sam thought it was the neatest thing. We   
did our turkeys a bit different. On the three   
feathers closest to the head, we'd spell out our   
names going down, one name per feather. And then,   
using the letters as the first in a word, we'd   
write the things we were thankful for."  
  
I thought to myself what a clever idea that was,   
since it couldn't have been an easy task.  
  
As if reading my mind, Mulder added, "I liked it,   
but I always ended up being thankful for xylophones."   
We laughed, and I could tell by his eyes that it   
was a special memory for him.  
  
"Well, then. I guess you'll have to start being   
thankful for them again, won't you?" The smile on   
his face was beautiful, and I was glad that he felt   
comfortable telling me all this.  
  
"So we can do that? With Adam when he's older?"  
  
I smiled. "We can do that now. I'm sure we can   
think of the sorts of things an eleven-month-old   
is thankful for." I thought of Adam's tiny, little   
hands, and his long middle name, and I added, "But   
I think he'll need a hand-stand-in for a year or   
two."  
  
"What's his middle name?" Mulder asked again,   
sounding almost scared now.  
  
"Well...When he was born, I was a bit hesitant to   
pick both names. I really felt that you should get   
a say in it. But Mom told me it was no big deal to   
change a middle name; apparently, Melissa was born   
right in the middle of one of Ahab's cruises, and   
he couldn't get to shore for three weeks. Mom was   
pretty sure they were going with Melissa Erin,   
which is what Billy was going to be if he was a   
girl. But when Ahab got back, he insisted on   
calling her Melissa Lynn. So Mom called up county   
records, and for a small fee, they changed the   
name."  
  
"So, what did you put down?" he asked, forever   
impatient.  
  
I chuckled. "I tried to think of something that   
would always remind me of you, just in case." I   
dropped my gaze, ashamed as always to admit that   
every so often the possibility that he wouldn't   
return crossed my mind. "Well, Adam was born in   
the middle of the night, and it was sooo cold...  
and one of the nurses had commented earlier that   
it was a 'three dog night'. She's Australian," I   
clarified.  
  
Mulder's eyes widened as he realized where I was   
going. "So...you thought of the group..."  
  
"And the song I butchered," I added, smirking,   
"and I put down Jeremiah."  
  
Mulder laughed and hugged me close. "I love it.   
My little Bullfrog, AJ."  
  
We stood there in silence for a while, when a   
thought occurred to me.  
  
"You know, Mulder. There's more to that song than   
drunken bullfrogs."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Mmm hmm."  
  
"Could you sing it to me?"  
  
"If I were, the queen of the world..."  
  
^*^  
  
December 24, 2001  
5:27 p.m.  
  
"Dana? Dana?"  
  
My brother's voice pulls me out of my daydream.   
"Huh? Oh, sorry Charlie. What's up?"  
  
"I'm hungry," my thirty-six-year-old brother   
whines. Yes, whines.  
  
I put my hands on my hips. "And you expect me to   
do what? Magically produce a feast for Your Royal   
Whineness?" When my little brother's around, I end   
up more sarcastic than I am with Mulder. It's an   
amazing thing to see.  
  
"That'd be nice," he shrugs. I smack him on his   
arm, and he pouts and goes back to talking to Byers.  
  
I glance at my watch, surprised to see that it's   
five-thirty. I guess I should start getting dinner   
ready. I go into the kitchen to grab a pen and a   
piece of paper.  
  
I make my way upstairs, not at all surprised to   
find Jason, Tim, Lexi, Matty, Frohike and Langly   
on Mulder's computer.  
  
"Please say you aren't teaching these innocent   
children how to hack into government agencies,"   
I say sternly, but with a smile on my face.  
  
"Of course not, Scully," Frohike assures. "I was   
giving Jason here a virtual tour of our offices."  
  
Jason looks back at me, nodding. "They said I can   
go with them after Christmas, if Mom and Dad let me.  
  
I think of Charlie, listening to the third stooge   
as though Byers were a priest preaching the Good   
Book. Hmm, I guess to Byers, that stuff IS the Good   
Book.  
  
"I'm sure they'll be okay with that, Jason. I came   
up here to get your orders for dinner. I'm calling   
for pizza, so what toppings to you like?"  
  
I return to the living room in a daze, having   
heard the weirdest combination of foods on one   
pizza in my entire life. Judging by the way Langly   
was salivating, I'll have to order two 'Gunmen   
Specials.'  
  
In the end, I order three pepperoni pizzas, two   
cheese, one mushroom, one half-cheese/half-  
pineapple, one with everything, and two...I'm   
surprised the person taking my order doesn't burst   
out laughing when I describe what the Gunmen like   
to eat.  
  
^*^  
  
8:02 p.m.  
  
Everyone is pleasantly stuffed, and the women   
decide it's a good time for presents. We'd all   
agreed earlier just to get the kids presents,   
otherwise we'd all end up broke, or more broke   
than usual.  
  
Mulder and I did get things for the Gunmen and   
Skinner and Ronnie, but we'll do an exchange with   
them later on in the week, since they got us stuff,   
but not the rest of my family. We all agreed to   
meet at the Gunmen's on Friday.  
  
Scully tradition dictates that since the youngest   
is most impatient, they get presents first, all at   
once. Adam doesn't really get what's going on, so   
Mulder helps him tear into the paper while I   
videotape the whole thing with the DigiCam I gave   
Mulder for his fortieth birthday this year.  
  
From Charlie's group, Adam gets a collection of   
Spot the Dog videos. I thank Charlie profusely for   
NOT getting Barney or the Teletubbies.  
  
From Billy and Tara and Matty is a San Diego Padres'   
hat and T-shirt. Mulder just makes general comments   
about how Adam loves baseball, but I know that shirt   
and hat will never be worn. The Knicks and Yankees   
are kings in the Mulder home. On an off day, the   
Giants or Rangers will do, and, in a real pinch,   
Mulder will suffer with the Mets or Islanders. I'm   
just glad it wasn't Orioles stuff -- not even Mulder   
could fake a smile over that.  
  
Mom gives a stuffed fox, a really gorgeous one.   
Adam latches on to it, and I get the feeling that   
we won't be going anywhere without it for a while.   
Lexi suggests the name Sly, and we all agree, Billy   
especially. Sly Fox Mulder.  
  
Matty's up next, and he gleefully tears into each   
gift. We got him a Tonka truck, and when I saw it   
last month, I made sure with Tara that he didn't   
already have it.  
  
Lexi gets a starter set of _American Girl_ books.   
Along with the set came a free trial of the magazine   
to go with it. Lexi's thrilled; she'd read a couple   
in the library, but didn't think of them when she   
wrote up her list. I'm secretly thrilled that Aunt   
Dana and Uncle Fox (yes, he's Uncle Fox to Lexi   
and Matty, but just Mulder to the older boys) got   
her exactly what she didn't know she wanted.  
  
We bought Tim a couple of video games that Charlie   
had confessed Saundra didn't really approve of.   
Oops! Oh well, that's what aunts are for, right?   
And hey, Tara got him the other games that Saundra   
didn't like. Have I ever mentioned how much I love   
Tara?  
  
Jason has kept in touch with us since Memorial   
Day, so we knew exactly what to get him. Mulder   
knows a guy who profiled in the BSU around the   
same time he did. The guy, Thomas Greensey, retired   
about five years ago and wrote a novel, a   
fictionalized version of one of cases he worked   
on. Mulder not only bought a hardcover edition,   
but he contacted Greensey and got him to sign it   
to Jason. Jason loves true crime stories, and as   
he gushes over the present, Mulder adds that once   
he's done reading, Mulder can set up a meeting with   
Greensey.  
  
I get the feeling that Jason may come out for a   
visit sometime next year. I'll make a special   
effort to be nice to Saundra so she'll let him   
do it.  
  
The living room is pretty much covered in wrapping   
paper now, and people begin making 'going home'   
noises. Actually, Charlie and his crew are going   
back to Mom's, and Billy and Tara and Matty are   
staying here. We've got some comfy cots, so Billy   
and Tara will be set up in the office, and Matty   
will room with Adam tonight.  
  
Skinner and Ronnie carpooled together, so they   
get into his car and they're off with a wave and   
a promise to see us on Friday. The Gunmen take   
their leave as well, piling into the old VW Bus,   
and I can see Billy's look of wariness as the Bus   
makes its way to the main streets.  
  
Tara and I go upstairs to put our boys to bed, and   
we share a good laugh over Saundra's reaction to   
our gifts to Tim. I also confess my beliefs about   
the fate of their gift to Adam. She shrugs it off   
and promises to steer Billy away from team-affiliated   
gifts in the future. Once the kids are asleep, we   
sneak back downstairs and are shocked to find our   
husbands, Fox Mulder and Bill Scully, having a   
normal, mature, adult conversation about -- of   
all things -- holiday traditions.  
  
Will wonders never cease?  
  
^*^*^  
X - Ides  
[[A routine lunch hour is interrupted by old   
problems]]  
  
March 15, 2002  
7:38 a.m.  
  
I can hear the sound of _Blue's Clues_ filtering   
upstairs. As I fight my way through the muddy   
waters of sleep, it occurs to me that I'm actually   
hearing the downstairs noise from the baby monitor,   
not through the door.  
  
The Friday Ritual strikes again.  
  
For the last three weeks, Mulder has made it his   
habit to get up before Adam, thus catching the   
baby awake before he can get fussy enough to wake   
me. The boys journey to the kitchen, where my   
husband creates a gourmet breakfast for us. I'm   
usually awakened by the baby monitor; he takes   
the other end with him and turns it on about ten   
minutes before he's finished cooking.  
  
All my suspicions are confirmed as I hear a second   
voice join Steve's in singing the "Mail Song".   
Adam makes his presence known at the end by yelling   
"Mail!" -- or rather, his 14-month-old version:   
"Mays!"  
  
Chuckling, I rise from the bed and trek into the   
bathroom. Mulder's wet towel hangs over the edge   
of the sink; I pick it up and wipe my face with   
it, inhaling his scent as a guilty pleasure. I   
quickly gargle a capful of Scope, knowing that   
Mulder doesn't really appreciate my morning breath.  
  
I then begin my newest tradition, barely a month   
old. Actually, I began it twenty-three days ago.   
I flip open the circular case, push out a small   
green pill, then turn the dial one click! to the   
right. I swallow the pill dry, then grimace as I   
recognize the tell-tale symptoms that Mulder hates   
to hear about.  
  
In a way, I'm relieved to start my period. Mulder   
had convinced himself, even after the mysterious   
letter from CGB Spender, that Adam's conception   
was a true miracle, and that the likelihood of us   
conceiving a second child is next to nothing. I,   
however, don't want to take the chance that the   
letter was the truth and not use protection. So   
I convinced Mulder to use a condom, which worked   
for a few months -- but neither of us are getting   
any younger, and time is getting to be an issue.   
So I went to my OBGYN, who understood that Viagra   
wasn't a possibility, and for the first time in   
my life, I'm on the Pill. In a year or two I may   
bring up the topic of going au natural again.  
  
Bathroom business complete, I head into the kitchen.   
There stands Mulder in his fibbie uniform and an   
apron. Adam's picking at his scrambled eggs, then   
sees me and squeals his hello.  
  
"Morning, baby boy," I murmur into his hair as I   
plant a kiss there. I notice he isn't as blonde   
as he was a few months ago; I think it's heading   
towards brown.  
  
His egg-filled hand grabs my shoulder, and I lower   
my head to receive a wet, eggy kiss on my cheek.  
  
"Morning, Scully," Mulder tosses over his shoulder.  
  
"Morning," I return, rising on my toes to lightly   
nip at the nape of his neck. We're all quiet as   
Steve sits in his Thinking Chair, trying to decide   
what today's clues could possibly mean.  
  
Every so often, I find myself doubting this life   
I've unexpectedly, yet joyfully, found myself   
thrust into. I fear that this is all a dream; I   
fear I'll awaken in a hospital bed nearly two   
years ago and remember that Mulder has just   
disappeared, but hear the doctor tell me that my   
dizziness was only brought on by dehydration --   
or, worse, the return of cancer.  
  
Luckily, I'm quickly pulled from those thoughts   
by the touch of my son or my husband, and when   
it's the latter, I break into gales of laughter   
at the thought of a Truly Domesticated Mulder.  
  
This morning I feel those doubts -- brought on by   
a rush of hormones, I'm sure -- but they're short-  
lived as always.  
  
Mulder pushes a plate filled with an omelet and   
sausage patties into my stomach, and I reflexively   
take it in my hands.  
  
"You coming in today?" he asks, releasing the plate   
and turning to fill his own.  
  
Another Friday Ritual has developed over the past   
few months: Adam and I schlep our way down to DC   
and have a lunch date with Mulder, Ronnie, and   
Skinner. We've yet to miss a Friday since the   
idea began last October, on the day before Mulder's   
fortieth birthday, yet every week Mulder asks to   
make sure we're coming.  
  
"Barring the Apocalypse," I respond, as I've   
responded since that second Friday.  
  
"Great. I was thinking of playing hooky after   
lunch. Skinner's been dropping hints about a case   
the last couple of days, and I'd like to go get   
Jason's present while I'm still in town."  
  
Our nephew Jason turns seventeen next week, and   
for his birthday we're surprising him with a round-  
trip ticket to visit us over his Spring Break. It   
would be easy enough to book the tickets by phone   
or the Internet, but Mulder wants to pick them up   
so we can send them personally.  
  
"Sounds like a plan, G-man."  
  
"Great!" he exclaims around a mouthful of artery-  
clogging sausage. Then he looks at his watch and   
frowns. "Crap, late." He swallows and puts he   
plate on the counter. "Gotta run," he laments,   
kissing me and removing his apron all at once.   
Last week he was halfway to work when he realized   
he was still wearing it.  
  
Adam reaches out for a hug from Daddy, who grants   
his son's wish without hesitation. "See ya later,   
AJ," he promises, sealing it with an Eskimo-kiss.  
  
As he all but runs out the door, a feeling of   
unease comes over me, and I stand in the doorway   
watching him leave, struggling to hold back the   
urge to call out, "Beware the Ides of March."  
  
^*^  
  
11:42 a.m.  
  
The worst part about living up by Baltimore now   
is the commute. Not that it's really bad -- just   
jump on Route 29 and go south -- but parking is a   
real nuisance. Mulder can use the Bureau's garage,   
of course, but on Fridays at noon-ish, the tour   
lines are beyond massive, and my best hope at   
parking is at least three blocks away. Even that's   
not always so bad.  
  
Today I find myself enjoying the walk. Adam's a   
big fan of his stroller, and he's saying hello to   
everyone who passes us. It's not quite the lunch   
hour yet, so most of the people on the sidewalk   
are tourists who have the time to respond to a   
little boy.  
  
The monstrosity called the Hoover Building comes   
into sight. I feel the jealous glares of the   
tourists who have at least another hour to wait   
as I step through the door that's for employees   
only. No one's told me not to use it yet, and I   
do work for the Baltimore Office occasionally,   
so I suppose technically I'm still an employee.  
  
"Right on time, Agent Scully," says a teasing,   
gentle voice. I look up and smile at its source:   
Arlen "Dogman" Harrison. Arlen has guarded the   
metal detector for as long as I've been coming   
to this building, probably even longer. Although   
I officially retired seven months ago, nine years   
of calling me Agent doesn't dissolve overnight.  
  
"Well, that's good. How's Amy doing?" I ask as   
Arlen does a perfunctory sweep of the stroller   
with his wand.  
  
I can see his grimace in response to my question.   
"She's tired. Doctor says that's normal, but   
sometimes she's asleep for twelve hours or so."  
  
Amy Harrison was recently diagnosed with fibro   
myalgia syndrome. I know a few people who've   
suffered from it, and I know it's an annoying way   
to live. It comes out of nowhere, probably triggered   
by stress, and doesn't really get better or worse.   
Muscle aches and sleep disorders are characteristic,   
but there's not much in the way of medication that   
can help.  
  
"Has your doctor suggested a mild anti-depressant?"  
  
Arlen escorts me around the metal detector and   
says, "No. He doesn't really think anything could   
help."  
  
I shrug, bending down to take off Adam's jacket.   
It's warm in the building, and I think we'll be   
staying in today. "You might want to try anyway,"   
I say, continuing my conversation with Arlen.   
"Couldn't hurt."  
  
"Guess not," he agrees, handing me my Visitor's   
ID. "Thanks Agent Scully. You have a nice lunch."  
  
"My best to Amy." I push the stroller toward the   
elevator, a bit thankful that I don't bump into   
anyone I know on the way. The car jolts as it   
begins its downward drop; Adam gurgles his delight.   
I smile and tickle his chin, and I realize that   
he's going to end up being a fan of amusement   
parks when he gets older. I know Mulder is always   
ready for a roller coaster, and while I haven't   
been on one in ages, I remember the joy of the   
carousel and the teacups.  
  
With a beep, the doors slide open, revealing the   
intensely familiar setting of the basement hallway.   
The first time I came back for a visit was hard;   
I never realized how much I'd missed the clutter.  
  
I can hear voices, low and muffled, coming from my   
old office. As always, I park the stroller outside   
the door and lift Adam out. He gives the door a   
shove and it opens, revealing his beloved father   
to him.  
  
"Dada!" he calls happily.  
  
"Hey AJ. How you doin' buddy?"  
  
"Mama Ayday ta Dada," Adam explains. Mommy and AJ   
to Daddy.  
  
"So I see," Mulder answers, deciphering the   
gobbledygook perfectly. When Adam first began to   
say things that actually resembled sentences,   
Mulder freaked, afraid that he wasn't fluent in   
Baby as he should be and he wouldn't understand.   
He soon came to realize that parents can always   
understand their own child perfectly, and that   
the child understands them just as well. "You   
hungry, AJ?"  
  
"Macseezy!" Adam's latest word is his pronunciation   
of his favorite food, macaroni and cheese. Mulder   
explains this to Ronnie.  
  
I decide it's time to enter the scene as Ronnie   
says with a chuckle, "I think that's the special   
of the day, Adam."  
  
"I hope so," I pray. "Adam's been looking forward   
to the congealed mass of pasta for a whole week."  
  
"Well, let's not keep him waiting, huh?" Mulder   
stands, pulling Adam into his arms in the same   
motion. "Skinner asked us to stop by before we go   
to the cafeteria. He called a few minutes ago,"   
he explains.  
  
I lead the way out of the office. "Case?" I ask,   
remembering that Mulder mentioned something at our   
aborted breakfast chat.  
  
He shrugs as we enter the car. "Dunno. He didn't   
say."  
  
Ronnie brings up the rear, and authoritatively   
punches the correct button for Skinner's floor.  
  
"How's everything with you, Ronnie?" My temporary   
partner of just over a year and I have become good   
friends. We don't have much time to see each other   
socially, as she's often out on a case with Mulder,   
and when they return I like to let him get   
reacquainted with Adam and me. These Friday lunches   
have been a great way to stay current.  
  
"Mom officially put Amelia in control of the B&B.   
Her arthritis has gotten pretty bad the last few   
months."  
  
"Any other news from that side of your family?"   
Amelia, Ronnie's sister, and her husband Alan have   
recently begun trying to have a baby, and Ronnie's   
eager to gain a niece or nephew to accompany her   
brother's son.  
  
"Not yet." Her voice isn't sad, but wistful. I   
know there's a story about where that tone came   
from, but I suspect it's painful, and she hasn't   
offered me any clues yet.  
  
We continue to chat as the elevator continues its   
upward climb.  
  
A few minutes later we're standing in Skinner's   
office, shocked into complete silence, and Adam   
too picks up on the tension in the room.  
  
Sitting on the couch are Alex Krycek and Marita   
Covarrubias.  
  
Instinctively, I take Adam from Mulder's arms and   
step behind him, using his body as a shield to   
protect my baby.  
  
Since the moment I fully believed that I was   
pregnant, I've known that our child could be useful   
for the slim remnants of the Project. I had no idea   
if the vaccine can be passed on like genes, but if   
they didn't know either, then the baby would be,   
to them, the perfect guinea pig.  
  
Over my dead body.  
  
Mulder straightens up fully, and I can sense that   
he realizes the possible threat to Adam, and I   
know he will give his life to save our son as well.  
  
"Relax, Papa Mulder," Krycek sneers. "We don't   
want the kid. The Project is long dead. Died the   
night you disappeared, when I threw the smoking   
bastard down the stairs of his apartment complex."  
  
I find myself listening intently. Krycek killed   
CGB? He's really dead? A flush of warmth flows   
through me, hope that one part of that letter was   
true bringing hope that all of it was true.  
  
"What do you want?" Mulder asks. Everyone can hear   
the self-control in his voice. I see Skinner and   
Ronnie glance at each other; she's confused, I'm   
sure, but still on the alert.  
  
"We bring news of the colonization plans," says   
Marita smoothly. "More specifically, the end of   
those plans."  
  
Everyone is quiet, wondering whether or not to   
believe these people. Mulder and I never figured   
out their true motivations, who they really sided   
with.  
  
"What happened?" Skinner finally asks.  
  
In her even tone, Marita explains: "The Rebel   
aliens have won. The faceless creatures responsible   
for the mass burnings at places like the Ruskin   
Dam and El Rico defeated the colonizing shape-  
shifters. Though he didn't know it, the Bounty   
Hunter was the last of his kind to be free in the   
universe. He abducted the men and women from   
Bellefleur -- and you, Agent Mulder -- because of   
their abilities."  
  
She shifted slightly on the couch, then continued.   
"He hoped to use your combined ESP to locate the   
rebel base. When he got there, it was too late.   
The rebels learned his plan, and he was taken as   
their prisoner. Then the rebels took his abductees   
and returned them to Earth."  
  
As much as I have opened my mind to extreme   
possibilities, I feel my skeptical side hitting   
a single wall that must be overcome.  
  
"Mulder was only gone a year," I point out. "If   
the rebels were so far away that the Bounty Hunter   
needed to use ESP to find them, how did it only   
take a year?"  
  
"Wormholes," prompts Krycek, and as soon as he   
says it, I realize I've know that all along. I did   
get my undergrad degree in Physics.  
  
"How did you find all this out?" Mulder asks,   
turning the interrogation in a new direction.  
  
Krycek shakes his head. "I'm afraid I cannot   
reveal my sources, Agent Mulder. Not yet, anyway.   
We just stopped by to give you that information.   
You can rest easy, Scully. Your son is in no danger;   
the vaccine couldn't be transferred through DNA   
anyway." Somehow, I'm not reassured by this man's   
words.  
  
"Why stop by? Why come to tell us in person?"   
Mulder sounds a bit more relaxed, but I can tell   
from the tension in his body that his guard hasn't   
fallen a bit.  
  
Krycek smiles smugly. "I wanted to meet my cousin.   
Hi Adam. I'm your cousin Alex." His smile grows at   
our reactions, but before we can question him   
further, he and Marita stand and walk out the back   
door of Skinner's office.  
  
For a long time all I can think about is how I   
always noticed a certain resemblance between Mulder   
and that double-crossing ratboy asshole. Now I   
wish I'd never noticed it at all.  
  
^*^*^  
XI - 29 Hours  
[[An escaped prisoner returns to reclaim the one   
victim who didn't die]]  
  
November 16, 2002  
2:32 a.m.  
  
The trilling of the phone wakes me, though it only   
rings once as Mulder grabs it quickly. I have to   
wonder if he's slept at all tonight. A quick glance   
at the clock tells me that I must have fallen asleep   
an hour and a half ago. We had quite a busy night;   
Mulder just got back from an exhausting eighteen-  
day case in Denver, and we both had huge reservoirs   
of sexual tension built up, seeing as it's been   
nearly a month, our longest gap since we reinstated   
our sexual relationship when he was returned.  
  
A month of no sex, a teething twenty-two-month-old,   
and no husband for two weeks seems to make me a   
very cranky human being.  
  
He came back from Colorado on Thursday, and while   
he was too tired that night to do anything but   
sleep, we made plans with my mother to get Adam   
out of the house tonight. So since 6:42 this   
evening, when Mom closed the door behind her,   
we've releasing our tension.  
  
And boy, did it feel good!  
  
A shocked gasp from Mulder brings my attention   
to the unexpected phone call.  
  
"...sure about that? Okay, slow down, Ronnie.   
Everything's going to be fine. I'll give Skinner   
a call, he's closer to you....No, it's okay, don't   
worry about it. I'll call you when I'm done with   
Skinner....No, it's best to stay outside for   
now....'Bye."  
  
He hangs up the phone and immediately begins   
dialing Skinner's number, and at the same time   
he tells me to hang on so he can explain to both   
of us.  
  
"Sir? It's Mulder. I...Yes, I do realize what time   
it is, and I have a very good reason for calling   
you. I just received a call from Agent Durant,   
and she believes that there is an escaped convict   
waiting for her in her apartment.... Yes, I know,   
sir. I was wondering if you could get some locals   
together and go check it out for her....Yeah,   
that's what I'm thinking, but I doubt he'd come   
way down here....Okay, thanks, sir."  
  
Once again he hangs up and redials, this time for   
Ronnie's cell phone, presumably. I still have no   
clue what's up as he assures her that Skinner and   
Co. are on their way. Finally, his calls are done.  
  
To my annoyance, he starts to get out of bed, but   
I place my hand on his thigh before he can move   
too much.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
He sighs. "Apparently, Ronnie thinks there's an   
escaped serial killer waiting for her in her   
apartment. You heard about that guy that somehow   
got out of Shawshank?"  
  
"In Maine?" I hadn't heard about any escape. "And   
he's made it here? When did he escape?"  
  
Mulder wiggles out of my grip, standing to pull   
on some clothes. Resigned to yet another sleepless   
night, I sit up and turn on the lamp beside the   
bed.  
  
"We got a memo while we were in Denver. Ronnie   
seemed spooked at the time, but I don't know if   
that was general bad-guy-on-the-loose spooked or   
he's-coming-for-me spooked." He pauses to slip on   
a sweatshirt, then: "I guess it was the latter."  
  
"You're going down there." I know the answer,   
though it's not really a question. Of course he's   
going to go check on his partner. While thankfully   
he and Ronnie don't have the exact same relationship   
that Mulder and I did as partners, he does show   
the same signs of worry and loyalty that we had   
right from the beginning. I'd bet that if Ronnie   
were a Ronald, Mulder would react exactly the same   
way.  
  
Socks and shoes go on. "Well, Skinner'll beat me   
there, and he's wrangling up a couple of nearby   
agents, just in case. But I'm sure everything's   
fine." He opens the nightstand drawer and removes   
his gun and badge, pausing to lean over and give   
me a kiss before stepping to the door. "I'll call   
you when I get there, so you know she's okay."  
  
"Thanks. See you in a few hours?"  
  
"Definitely. I plan to make the most of this   
weekend," he adds with his characteristic leer,   
and I grin in return. He's gone a second late,   
and I sigh in resignation. After a quick search   
for the remote, I get reacquainted with Ginsu   
Knives and the AeroBed.  
  
^*^  
  
3:45 a.m.  
  
Once again, the phone startles me awake. The TV   
is still blaring, an infomercial about learning   
magic failing miserably to keep my attention. I   
smack the power button of the remote and catch   
the phone as it finishes its third ring.  
  
"Scully, we've got a problem."  
  
Oh, I hate conversations that start like this.   
"What's the problem, Mulder? Is Ronnie okay?"  
  
There's a little hesitation, then he reveals,   
"Well, we're not sure. She's not here."  
  
I blink. "Where did she go?" I'm afraid of the   
answer.  
  
"We think she was abducted by whoever was in her   
apartment. And from the note that was left on her   
refrigerator, it seems she was taken by one Arthur   
Buckley, the escapee from Shawshank."  
  
"Oh my God," I breathe. Why? Why did this have to   
happen? "Was he related to the X-Files?" I'd hate   
to see my friend go through the same crap I did   
when Donnie Pfaster escaped.  
  
"No. He was arrested in '98 for the murders of   
four people in New York's Adirondack Park, if my   
information is correct. He was sentenced to four   
life terms, absolutely no shot at parole. Death   
penalty was avoided through a plea bargain."  
  
"Plea bargain? That's odd. Why would a lawyer plea   
bargain for four life sentences?"  
  
He waits a beat, then replies, "Well, there was   
the suspicion that Buckley murdered thirteen more   
people in '92 and '93. If the prosecution were   
able to use that evidence in court, he certainly   
would have gotten the death penalty. Confessing   
to four saved his life."  
  
I just nodded. "How'd Ronnie get involved?"  
  
"This is the fun part," Mulder admitted, though   
his voice made it clear that the facts were   
anything but. "She was on the team that eventually   
brought him in. In fact, he shot her. Twice."  
  
"Shit," I find myself muttering. No wonder she was   
spooked when she heard he was out.  
  
Mulder reads my mind. "Really. I wish I'd known.   
Fact is, he swore she'd be the last. Christ,   
Scully, if I'd known what was going on...Jesus,   
I'd have sent her camping with Frohike for a couple   
of weeks. No, probably Byers is a better choice...."  
  
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I smile   
of the thought of Frohike the Gnome out in the   
middle of nowhere with a gorgeous woman he's   
supposed protect. Mulder's right: Byers is the   
better choice.  
  
"Dammit, why can't I ever get things right," Mulder   
rants, his words a flow of self-deprecation the   
likes of which I haven't seen since he found out   
I'd been pregnant in Oregon. Still he continues:   
"I mean, when Pfaster escapes, and I *know* what   
he did to *you*, I still back off and let you go   
home by yourself, listening to your 'I'm fines'   
and telling myself that if you want to talk, you   
know where I live...."  
  
Time to stop this pity party. "Mulder, shut up!"   
I command. He's shocked into silence, not having   
heard my command voice in years. I figure it's   
good to keep the voice in shape for when Adam gets   
into trouble when he's older.  
  
"Mulder, there's no way in Hell that I'm letting   
you blame yourself for this. If she didn't want   
to talk about it, then you were right to let it   
go. And she knew the danger, too. She's a grown   
woman, very capable of filing for some much needed   
vacation time. She's also a federal agent, much   
like I was when Pfaster escaped. If this Buckley   
guy does have her, I'm sure she's capable of   
handling herself."  
  
I can tell by the tone of silence that Mulder is   
accepting my words. Thank God. I don't need him   
moping around while we try to find her. But then   
the tone changes, and I realize the situation is   
much worse than I originally thought.  
  
"How long?" I ask, instinctively knowing what the   
problem is.  
  
"Twenty-nine hours. Well, twenty-eight hours and   
fifteen minutes. He says he'll give us until eight   
o'clock tomorrow morning before he kills her."  
  
^*^  
  
5:41 a.m.  
(26hrs 19mins remaining)  
  
I have to wonder if somehow we knew something was   
going to go wrong his weekend, because it's pretty   
convenient that Adam just happens to be visiting   
Grandma for the first time in ages.  
  
Somehow, Mulder has arranged for me to be admitted   
onto the team that will work to find Ronnie. I   
don't really want to know what favors he called   
in for that to happen, I'm just glad he did.  
  
The first thing we've planned on doing is reviewing   
the old files on Buckley. There are the four files   
on each of his victims, the daily reports from   
all the members of the '98 task force that   
eventually brought him in, as well as profiles   
and random notes that served to get inside Buckley's   
head.  
  
Arthur Buckley. The Hunter, the press dubbed him   
back in 1992. He's thirty-seven now, born just a   
year after me. In fact, born just a few days   
before Charlie was born. He idolized his father,   
who taught him how to hunt. Not people, but regular   
animals. Todd Buckley was a stickler for the rules   
of hunting. Licenses had to be obtained, even when   
they only hunted on their own private land.  
  
His childhood home had been happy. Stacey, his   
mother, and JoAnn, his older sister, were both   
intelligent women who knew their way around the   
woods of the Adirondack Park.  
  
But all that fell apart when one of Todd's hunting   
trips had gone horribly wrong.  
  
Todd and some of his friends went out for bear   
season in 1977. It had been a long day, and none   
of the four men had shot anything. As the day wore   
on, they grew tired, and night began to fall. The   
other three men met back at the designated site   
at the designated time, but Todd never showed.   
The men grabbed flashlights from their trucks and   
went off to look for him. The woods became quiet   
suddenly as a bear lumbered into their area of the   
woods. One man, John Hamilton, took a shot at the   
bear and felled it.  
  
But it wasn't a bear. No, it had been Todd,   
carrying the carcass of a deer over his shoulder.  
  
Despite the best efforts of the doctors of St.   
Elizabeth's Hospital in Utica, Todd was pronounced   
dead just after seven that evening.  
  
Arthur had never been the same since. Hamilton   
had never been charged with anything, as the   
statements from the other two men confirmed that   
they truly thought they'd seen a bear. But in   
twelve-year-old Arthur's brain, Hamilton had   
murdered his beloved father.  
  
Years later, Arthur Buckley began exacting his   
revenge. He started hunting again, but this time   
he hunted people. The four deaths he'd confessed   
to were exactly the same. He'd shot a person who   
was alone in the woods, whether they were hiking,   
or hunting, or just taking a piss. Then he very   
carefully removed their heads. When Buckley's   
cabin had been searched, the agents found four   
heads, all in various stages of being stuffed.   
Buckley had learned taxidermy somewhere along the   
line.  
  
The other thirteen unsolved murders fit Buckley's   
MO, but no heads were ever found to definitively   
link them to him.  
  
I can't imagine what it must have been like to   
track this man down. I've seen Mulder when he's   
profiling, and it scares me. Why anyone would want   
to get into a psychopath's head is beyond me.  
  
But the problem now is finding Ronnie. As Mulder   
had told me over the phone, Ronnie was indeed on   
the task force that captured Buckley. What he   
hadn't told me was that she'd all but demanded   
that she be put on the team; apparently she grew   
up in the Adirondacks, and she remembered clearly   
the first series of murders that began in 1992.   
She'd been appalled by the lack of evidence the   
FBI could pull together back then; there were   
three victims that hadn't even been identified,   
the decomposition had been so bad. With no head   
for teeth and dental records, they'd had to rely   
on fingerprints, which were impossible to match.  
  
So she joined the FBI, wanting to make a difference.   
And most likely to catch The Hunter when he came   
out of hiding.  
  
When the team had eventually found him, he had   
another victim in his possession. Ronnie willfully   
traded herself for that person's life. In the end,   
she was shot twice in the abdomen, an injury that   
kept her out of the field for just over a year.   
Her assignment to the X-Files was her first one   
since the Buckley case.  
  
I find myself empathizing with her, understanding   
completely how scared she must have been when she   
got the memo that he'd escaped. Killers don't like   
to leave their work unfinished. My second battle   
with Pfaster showed me that.  
  
We simply have to find her.  
  
^*^  
  
6:19 a.m.  
(25hrs 41mins remaining)  
  
"Listen up!"  
  
Everyone listens as Mulder begins barking out   
orders. I smile faintly, remembering times when   
snickers and whispers would follow his commands;   
now, the agents know that he's brilliant and that   
listening the first time would serve everyone   
better. Especially the victims.  
  
He turns on the overhead projector, and a topo-  
graphical map of somewhere is shown on the screen.   
"As you know, Arthur Buckley is known for killing   
in the woods. He takes his victims' heads as   
trophies, and stuffs them at home. Of course, his   
previous home is unavailable to him now, having   
been burned after his confession and sentencing.  
  
"However, I suspect that he's always planned for   
this and has other options available to him. I've   
been in contact with his remaining family, and   
his sister owns a cabin in West Virginia. This   
topo map is of the area immediately surrounding   
her cabin. The red dot" he pointed with his pen   
"is the cabin. It's secluded, ten miles from the   
nearest town.  
  
"I've contacted the West Virginia State Police   
and they're putting out an APB on Buckley. In   
case you don't know, he's thirty-seven, 6'2" and   
228 pounds. He has brown hair and eyes, but wears   
contacts, so be aware that the eye color may change.   
There is a long scar by his left ear that traces   
across his cheek.  
  
"You should also know that his prisoner is Special   
Agent Veronica Durant. She is thirty-six, 5'5",   
123 pounds. She has brown hair, blue eyes. No   
distinguishing characteristics. I've provided   
pictures of both Buckley and Durant for reference.   
Any other questions?"  
  
There's silence for a moment, then an agent in the   
middle of the room stands up. "Agent Mulder, my   
colleagues and I have heard rumors about a deadline.   
Is there any truth to that?"  
  
I frown. I can tell by Mulder's face that he didn't   
want to talk about this, that he hoped everything   
could happen way before Buckley's deadline became   
an issue. But of course, he tells the truth.  
  
"Arthur Buckley has stated that we have until   
eight o'clock tomorrow morning to find him. If   
I'm right about him using his sister's cabin, we   
should have Agent Durant back safely before mid-  
night. If I'm wrong..."  
  
Mulder sighs. "If I'm wrong, we'll have a very   
loud clock ticking in our ears."  
  
^*^  
  
11:32 a.m.  
(19hrs 28mins remaining)  
  
Mulder is not as powerful as we thought he was,   
and I've been forced to hold at Headquarters and   
man the phone lines. I suppose Skinner knows what   
he's doing, and I guess it's best to ensure that   
Adam keeps at least one of his parents, though I   
know that Mulder will think twice before jumping   
into trouble.  
  
Besides, Skinner has made Mulder stay in the van   
when it arrives at the cabin, and he's only to get   
out once Buckley's in cuffs.  
  
Skinner really loves his godson.  
  
So I'm bored to tears, sitting next to one of   
four hotline phones that we hope won't ring. If   
they do ring, it's because Buckley's been spotted,   
and that means he's not in West Virginia, and that   
means that Mulder was wrong, and...  
  
No. I won't allow myself to think that. Mulder's   
right, he's always right. Always been right, always   
will be right. Boy, would he kill to hear me now.  
  
A ringing phone cuts through the thick silence of   
the "war room", and my heart begins to pound. It   
rings again, however, and I realize that it's my   
cell phone, and not the hotline.  
  
With relief, I answer, "Hello?"  
  
"Dana? Where are you?" My mother sounds terribly   
confused, and I suddenly remember that I forgot   
to call her before I left so early this morning.  
  
"Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm in DC at Headquarters;   
Ronnie's been kidnapped." Her gasp of surprise is   
the response I'd expected, and I quickly fill her   
in on the non-classified details.  
  
"Fox will be okay, won't he? I mean, he won't do   
anything stupid, right?"  
  
Despite the seriousness of Mom's question, I   
chuckle softly. "I think he'll look before he   
leaps. He's got many good reasons not to end up   
in the hospital now."  
  
"Dana," my mother says, her voice unsure, "he's   
always had good reasons not to end up in the   
hospital, and it never stopped him before!"  
  
I laugh even harder. "Well, back then, he knew   
I'd be okay if he was in traction. He didn't have   
anyone else to answer to. But now..." My laughter   
stops abruptly so I can speak with the seriousness   
this next part deserves. "He's so afraid of missing   
Adam's life, Mom. I had to assure him that Adam   
won't really remember those five months his daddy   
wasn't there. He's rarely out of town for longer   
than one night anymore. The two weeks he was just   
in Denver nearly killed him! And after last   
night..." I pause again, realizing that since the   
first phone call woke us up early this morning,   
I haven't thought about our discussion at all.  
  
"Dana? Dana, what happened last night?"  
  
I bite my lip, not sure if I want to let my mother   
in on our plans. I know she'll approve, but God   
knows if it doesn't work out, she'll be devastated.   
Mulder and I will be upset enough; do we really   
need Mom bummed out, too?  
  
"Honey, is everything all right? Please talk to   
me..."  
  
I've been quiet far to long to let this go now;   
I'll have to tell her. But I'll do my best to keep   
her looking at this whole thing realistically.  
  
"Mom...uh, Mulder and I had a talk last night   
and...well, we decided we're going to try to have   
another baby." Mom's second shocked gasp of the   
morning rings in my ear, and I start talking again.   
"But keep in mind, Mom, that we have no idea if   
I'm even capable of having more children. I'm   
still not a hundred percent sure how I was able   
to conceive Adam, and if that was just a miracle   
then..."  
  
"Sweetheart, I know not to get my hopes up," Mom   
cuts in. "I appreciate you telling me anyway.   
You'll have nothing but support from me, and if   
you want to try and see what a clinic can do for   
you, I'd be glad to help pay..."  
  
Now I interrupt her. "No! No, Mom, we're just   
going to let nature take its course. Fate has   
ruled Mulder and me since the beginning, and I   
don't think she's going to let go now."  
  
"You're probably right, Dana. I wish you luck,   
and if you need me to baby-sit more often so you   
can try this..." Now she chuckles, and I feel my   
cheeks burning.  
  
"That's quite all right, Mother. I think we'll   
stick to our regular schedule, thank you very   
much. Just please don't tell anyone else? I don't   
need Tara calling me once a week to get a progress   
report."  
  
"You got it. Mum's the word. Ha! I guess it will   
be if it works, huh?"  
  
I roll my eyes. My mother has the oddest sense of   
humor, and it breaks out into the open at the   
oddest times.  
  
"Mom, I've gotta go, I'm supposed to be manning   
the phones here."  
  
"Okay, dear. Don't worry about Adam, he's having   
a blast being spoiled to death. You just take your   
time, because I can keep him all weekend if need   
be."  
  
"Great. This whole mess her will be over soon, I   
hope. I'll call you when Ronnie's safe, okay?"  
  
"Okay. 'Bye Dana."  
  
"'Bye Mom." I flip off my phone and throw my head   
back and sigh. My eyes find the upside-down form   
of Walter Skinner. It occurs to me that I just   
had that phone call here in FBI Headquarters,   
where people are walking in and out of my room   
all the time. I slowly raise my head and stand up,   
ready to apologize for the personal call in the   
middle of a crisis.  
  
But Skinner doesn't look like he's in his   
Reprimanding Mode; he actually looks...pleased?  
  
Oh shit. He heard *that*. Who else is in the room?  
  
I guess my shock and fear is seen on face as I   
spin around to take attendance, because Skinner   
just says, "Don't worry. I'm the only one who   
heard it." I face my former boss again and smile   
gratefully. "I won't tell Mulder I heard, so long   
as I get to be at the next one's birth, too."  
  
My smile widens at the confidence in that statement.   
"Thank you, Skinner. You've got yourself a deal.   
I just hope you won't be my Lamaze partner again."  
  
When SACs Colton and Doggett enter two minutes   
later, Skinner and I are still in the grips of   
laughter.  
  
"Um, AD Skinner? We just got a call from Agent   
Mulder." Skinner and I shut up instantly and stare   
at Doggett until he continues. "They found the   
cabin, and it appears that Buckley's in there."  
  
I breathe a sigh of relief. The hard part's over;   
now we just need to get Ronnie out of there alive.  
  
^*^  
  
3:57 p.m.  
(16hrs 3mins remaining)  
  
It feels like half the Bureau has stuffed itself   
into this tiny room, listening to the radio that   
is detailing every move the team makes.  
  
Right now, snipers are trying for a third time to   
get a clear shot at Buckley. There are five windows,   
all covered in blinds, but the blinds are open.   
We're assuming that this is so Buckley can see   
out, not so we can see in.  
  
Despite Bureau policy not to negotiate for an   
agent's life, Mulder is doing his damnedest to   
talk around it. He's been promising Buckley   
everything if he'll give himself up, from dropping   
the escape charges to extra movies every week.   
He's told Ronnie's life story, as much as he knows   
anyway, to try and make Buckley emotional. He's   
tried sympathy, empathy, and a zillion other   
tricks, but Buckley hasn't budged from his original   
terms.  
  
He wants his father's killer in jail.  
  
But there's a problem with that. John Hamilton   
died three years ago. We haven't told Buckley   
that yet, since the knowledge could cause him   
to go into a rage and kill Ronnie.  
  
Of course, he might be satisfied and give up.  
  
It's our last-minute plan, saved literally for   
the last minute. If, at 7:59 a.m. we haven't gotten   
Ronnie back, Mulder will make that announcement.   
If Buckley makes any hostile movement, noise,   
whatever, the SWAT team will come at the small   
cabin with full power. We can only hope that   
Ronnie knows this and can get out of harm's way.  
  
"Arthur, even if Hamilton's in jail, you won't   
get your father back." Everyone here sighs as   
Mulder reverts to his first and most-used tactic.   
"And there's no way he'll be held for more than   
involuntary manslaughter, which is minimal jail-  
time, and he can get off for good behavior."  
  
Colton groans in my ear. The ladder-climbing   
asshole's been sniffing my hair all day. "Jesus,   
why doesn't he just tell the guy that we've got   
Hamilton in custody? Then everyone's happy and no   
one gets hurt."  
  
Every thirteen minutes and ten seconds, Colton   
suggests that inane tactic. I'm finding it very   
hard not to swing around and smack him.  
  
But this time, he adds a new zinger: "Guess you   
lose the gift when you've been taken by little   
green men!"  
  
I can't hold it in anymore. I stand up so fast my   
chair falls back and before I know what I'm doing   
my fist has connected with Colton's piggish head   
and he falls to the floor with a grunt.  
  
"They're gray!" I correct him, my tone of voice   
clearly stating my authority to know that particular   
piece of trivia.  
  
Everyone just flicks their eyes from Colton to me   
until I finally turn away from him and put my   
attention back on the radio. I think I hear someone   
call for an ice pack, but I hear Colton dismiss   
it and leave the room. Then the room breaks out   
into laughter.  
  
SAC Doggett plops down in the seat next to me and   
gives me a respectful pat on the back.  
  
"You know, Scully, I've wanted to do that since   
I first met that stupid bastard! Glad to know   
there's someone in the world who can put him in   
his place."  
  
The only response I can think of is "I told him   
I'd one day watch him fall on his ass."  
  
Doggett just laughs harder and pats my back again.   
He notices my concentration on the radio, and he   
makes a high pitch whistle that gets everyone's   
attention. "Come on agents, we're not out of the   
woods yet."  
  
There are a few snickers at his choice of words,   
but otherwise they're all quiet and refocus on   
the radio.  
  
Another hour goes by, and I can tell that Mulder's   
getting quite tired and frustrated. Skinner's   
getting ready to insist that Mulder take a break   
and have someone else keep Buckley talking, but a   
phone call stops those plans.  
  
I grab the hotline phone and ask what information   
the person has.  
  
"Ma'am, my name is Jessica Davies. I, uh, had a   
relationship with Arthur Buckley six years ago."  
  
Great. An old girlfriend. "Ms. Davies, do you have   
any information for us?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Uh, when Artie and I broke up, I was   
pregnant. He didn't know, and I never got the   
chance to tell him. He's got a son, ma'am."  
  
"Why do you believe that this will help us?" I   
can't wait for her explanation.   
  
"Well, when we were going out, Artie was always   
talking about how he was gonna get revenge for   
his father's death. How he was gonna make the guy   
who shot his daddy pay. So, when I heard that   
Artie was convicted for those killings, I figured   
that's why he did it."  
  
"And?" I still wasn't getting the point.  
  
"My...our son is named for his father. Todd Andrew   
Buckley, II. I don't know why, but I just felt   
that maybe if Artie knew that his father wasn't   
gone f'ever, he wouldn't be out for revenge."  
  
I finally got it, and for some reason it made   
sense to me, too. "Thank you very much, Ms. Davies.   
I'm going to hand you over to Agent Doggett right   
now, and he's going to get some more information   
from you. You've been a big help."  
  
Before she can say another word, I give the phone   
to Doggett and I smack the speed-dial to connect   
me to Mulder's phone.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
"Mulder, it's me. Listen, we just got some really   
good information. Buckley's got a son. He's about   
six years old, but Buckley doesn't know about him.   
Mulder, the kid's mom named him for Buckley's father.  
  
Mulder sucks in a breath, and I get the feeling I   
done good. "Scully, I love you! That might do it!"   
Before I can return the sentiment (not that he   
needs to hear it), he's disconnected and talking   
to Buckley.  
  
"Arthur, your father is still alive." I hear   
murmured questions filter around the room. "He's   
alive in you, Arthur. Every child holds a bit of   
their parents in them. And, Arthur, I've been   
informed that you have a son. A six-year-old boy   
who is also part of your father. He's even named   
for your father. Todd Andrew Buckley...the Second."  
  
My eyes fill with tears as I listen to the passion   
in my husband's voice. I know he's thinking about   
that letter we received, and if he's thinking about   
the immortality part, then he's gotta be thinking   
that there's a chance at having a second baby.  
  
All we can hear in the next few seconds is the   
rustle of movement and a relieved shout of "She's   
alive!"  
  
Everyone in the room lets out a sigh of relief,   
but until we hear the official word from Mulder,   
no one dares celebrate.  
  
Finally, he gets on the radio. "Agents, Arthur   
Buckley is in federal custody, and Agent Durant   
is back among the free. She's perfectly fine,   
just a couple of scratches. Well done, everyone!"  
  
Now a cheer rises from the crowded room, and all   
I can do start counting the minutes until my   
husband and my best girlfriend are back in my arms.  
  
^*^*^  
  
4 out of 5 doctors say expressing your enjoyment of a fanfic   
to its author increases your life expectancy 23-23.8 years.   
The other doctor was killed by Cancerman before we could ask   
him.  
  
jeri, president, xpab: x-philes against bees  
Join by writing to: kill_em_all@thexfiles.com OR  
Visit the xpab site:  
http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/xpab.html  
  
And while you're there...  
  
Visit Jeri's Basement:  
http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/index.html  
  



End file.
